Forgotten Hero

by Brian Murray

  Sasha ran to embrace her father, who in return coolly hugged his daughter.

  “Father, let me introduce my friends,” Sasha said, smiling.

  “King Logan of Rhaurien,” she said formally, “this is Emperor Rowet, the Chosen of the Phadrine. Did I say that right?”

  “Yes, that was close enough,” replied Rowet with a broad grin. The tall black man smoothly rose and held out his hand.

  A moment of insecurity swept over the king and instinctively he hugged his daughter closer. Then feeling her pinch him, he held out his hand to Rowet, and they shook. This was an historic moment for both nations, in the relaxed, calm atmosphere of the Teldor royal gardens.

  “Your Highness,” started the Chosen, “let me introduce my daughter, Princess Ireen, and our companion, Megan.”

  Logan smiled and shook their offered hands.

  “Please join us for refreshments and let us just be two fathers on this sunny day. We will talk no business now, as this is not the time. Let us get to know each other as men and fathers,” said the Chosen, gesturing to a seat.

  King Logan visibly relaxed and took the chair next to the Chosen.

  For the next hour, both leaders and the three young women shared their stories, enjoying a pleasant morning in the gardens.

  “If you would excuse me, I now have court to attend. Your Highness, I will see you later.” Logan paused. “I have duties all afternoon, but would like to invite you to join my family for an evening meal, after which we can talk.”

  “That is most generous,” replied Rowet with a smile.

  The king left the table and returned to the palace.

  ***

  Throughout the day, Logan could not take his mind off his meeting with the Chosen. Initially, he had been afraid of the dark-skinned man and would have left immediately, had it not been for his daughter’s persistence. He found himself liking the man who was still his greatest enemy, yet he reminded himself he had to be wary.

  ***

  That evening, King Logan held an informal dinner for his guests without any pomp or ceremony. The Chosen’s presence remained a secret, and the king did not want anyone else in the Kingdom knowing of his whereabouts – until he had discovered the reason for his visit. Thus the king decided to have a private meal with the Chosen, his daughter, Ireen, their companion Megan, and Baron Chelmsnor. Queen Larene was the perfect hostess and all enjoyed the food, wine, and light conversation in a relaxed atmosphere. At the end of the meal Logan rose and, taking the Chosen by the arm, they moved to his private library where he called for Baron Chelmsnor to join them.

  “We have a lot to discuss,” started the king, his confidence lifted by several glasses of red wine.

  “Yes, we do.”

  “Before we involve our advisors, let us talk first so that I might understand what is happening.”

  “I think it would be advisable for Baron Chelmsnor here to start our story,” responded Rowet.

  “Yes. Baron, it has been a while since we heard from you. I read your parchment, but still do not believe it. Can it be true that . . . that Evlon is gone?”

  “Aye, your Highness, the whole city has been razed to the ground.” The baron told the story of the Darklord’s arrival, his threats, and, without going into detail, the slaying of men, women, and children of Evlon. Finally, he gave the king the Darklord’s message.

  The king rose, his face blanched with shock. He poured three glasses of Evlon spirit and handed them to his guests. He downed his own in one gulp, then reached for the bottle and poured himself another measure.

  “This man threatens my Kingdom and kills people under my protection,” said the king angrily, sitting down and placing the bottle of liquor on a small table next to him.

  “The story does not end there, my liege. The man then coerced the Chosen’s son into assisting having the emperor overthrown and assassinated,” added the baron.

  The king flashed a look of utter disbelief at the Chosen, who in turn simply nodded.

  “And this man intends to march your army against me?”

  “Your Highness, there is still more,” said the baron, looking across at the Chosen. “Gan-Goran told us the story of the Dark Wars and the Dark One’s relics.”

  Logan’s face drained of all colour. With shaking hands, he drank more of the strong Evlon liquor.

  “We believe this Darklord is gathering the relics of the Dark One with the intention of completing the ritual of resurrection. We believe he has the piece from the Grey Castle in the Great Mountains and that there was a piece in Evlon. Moreover, he may by now have the two pieces hidden in the white temple, which we concluded is the Chosen’s palace in Kal-Pharina. This man must be insane to want to complete the ritual of resurrection, but the threat is there and we believe all too real.”

  “It could be coincidence,” suggested the king more hoping than believing his own words.

  “Aye, it could be coincidence, but nonetheless, the man is a killer of women and babes and must be stopped,” said the Chosen. “The problem is not only does he have control of my army and fleet, but he commands the Kharnacks and, from reports I have received, also many large mercenary bands from the north. This man has created a most formidable army and if he has the relics he will become a very powerful magic-master.”

  “Well, even without help from my advisors, it looks as though we have a huge problem. What do you suggest, Rowet?” asked Logan.

  Noticing the informality used by the king, the Chosen now realised they were talking on equal terms.

  “As far as I can see, Logan, we have only one option and that is to march your army into Phadrine and attack the heart of the problem.”

  Logan sat still, in shock. “Are you asking me to march my army into your lands?”

  “That’s exactly what I am asking. I will go too and once there, my people will see I am alive and will rebel against my son. I need to regain control of my forces before my son does anything stupid – if he has not done so already.”

  Logan sat pondering for a while, then asked, “How would we get across the Steppes?”

  “I know of ways across the Steppes.”

  “Are you telling me you can get an army across the Steppes?” asked Logan in disbelief.

  “Yes. It is not easy, but it is possible to get an army across the Steppes intact,” confirmed Rowet in a matter-of-fact tone.

  Logan thought again, then asked, “And what would prevent me from taking control of the Empire?”

  “The agreement of two men, two fathers here and now. If you agree, we have to look at the finer details of our combined forces working together. Disagree and I will leave your city now to try and accomplish the task on my own.”

  The king leant forward. “What will stop you from attacking my men once you have regained the throne?”

  “Again, the agreement we reach now,” replied Rowet without hesitation.

  The king took another sip of his drink.

  “Good this,” said Logan, looking at the golden liquid in his glass. “From your part of Rhaurien, Baron.”

  “I thought I recognised the flavour, my liege.”

  Logan raised his glass towards Rowet, who for the first time lifted his glass. They toasted and drank the contents of their glasses.

  “As we sit here with my baron as our witness, I agree that we will sort out our problems and there will be peace between us,” proclaimed Logan.

  The two leaders stood and shook hands warmly.

  “All we have to do now is get the agreement of our advisers.”

  “I am sure you can resolve any issues with your people as I can with mine,” said Rowet, choked with emotion.

  “Well, we will leave that until tomorrow. Now let us re-join our families,” announced Logan, leading Rowet back into the private dining room.

  Chelmsnor stayed in the library for some time, absorbing the enormity of what had just occurred; that two nations with such differences, two men with such different backgrounds and b
eliefs could put aside generations of prejudice and hatred so quickly. As the baron rose, he smiled but quickly he sat down, his happiness turning to sadness, his smiles to tears. Dark memories stirred and again he remembered the children of Evlon – their screams, and his promise. He could only pray that he would see the man who had committed those heinous crimes punished. Wanting to be alone, Chelmsnor silently left the library and returned to his room. He knew the discussions tomorrow would be tense and wanted to be fresh and alert to argue his cause.

  Chapter 14

  The company of eight badly bruised, exhausted men made their way slowly through the Dashnar Forest on foot, pushing themselves hard both day and night through a mass of trees and thick, thorny brush. Their horses either had been killed or had bolted during the attack by the Talon Hunters, taking their supplies with them. Even though there had been no more howling, they could not be sure they had killed all of the beasts.

  Along with physical wounds, the men also carried emotional ones. Though professionals, the Royal Lancers and Prince Zane privately mourned the loss of their comrades. For the others, the loss of Tanas had been a huge blow to their morale. They had started this adventure as a group and wanted to finish together. These were men from completely different lives, thrown together by circumstances yet they had, up to that time, been successful. Thade suffered more than the others, Tanas had been helping him when he fell into the hole.

  For four more days, the men continued their journey through seemingly never-ending forest, stopping only briefly to drink water and eat what meagre supplies they carried, not wanting to delay themselves by hunting or searching for wild nuts or berries. They helped each other, no one moaning or groaning, as that achieved nothing. Each man took it upon himself to encourage and motivate the others, from a junior lancer helping his captain to the Prince of the Rhaurns helping the lowliest of the group. On the fifth day of continuous travel, the men reached the north-eastern edge of the forest. In the distance, near a stream, they spotted a wooden cabin with a grey stone chimney. As they approached the cabin they could tell it was abandoned. The door had been broken off and hung limply from its upper hinge. Once inside the cabin with the door fixed and bolted, the men relaxed. Within an hour, a fire had been lit in the stone hearth and the men fell into exhausted asleep.

  ***

  At dawn the next day the men woke feeling refreshed, but still travel-soiled. Each man walked down to the stream and washed himself with crushed mint leaves. Gan-Goran again surprised everyone with the meal he made for breakfast. No one cared where he had obtained the food and no one cared to ask him what it was. Sitting in the cabin six days after the attack from the Talon Hunters, the men had their first meaningful group discussion whilst breaking their fast.

  “Gammel, do you know where we are in relation to Evlon?” asked Dax.

  “I believe it’s a day’s march north towards the Great Mountains,” replied the blacksmith.

  “That’s good to hear,” said Zane, relieved.

  “Zane, there’s one thing you should bear in mind. There’s nothing left of Evlon and no supplies there, either,” said Gammel glumly, the pain returning.

  Zane spoke. “Captain, if my memory serves me right, is there not an outpost two or three days’ march north of Evlon?”

  “Aye, I believe it is Ubert,” answered Dax.

  “I think we should find whatever provisions we can between here and Evlon, and then make our way north to Ubert.”

  “Agreed,” replied Dax.

  “With all due respect, Sire,” added Gammel. “I would like to spend as little time in Evlon as possible.”

  “My friend,” began Dax, “I would like to go through Evlon to pay my respects to the dead Rhaurns and leave the city. We just have to stop off at the Great Hall and we will be on our way.”

  “Thank you.”

  “So it is agreed, we head to Ubert after Evlon to get supplies and fresh horses.”

  “Dax,” added Thade, “which way do we go, after? Assuming the Chosen has made a pact with the king, do we wait at Evlon, head for Teldor, or go straight to Kal-Pharina, assuming the Rhaurn army is marching?”

  Zane answered. “I think we make our way to Ubert, rest, obtain fresh mounts and supplies, then decide with clear minds and full stomachs.”

  All nodded in agreement.

  ***

  The company arrived at Evlon just before dusk. The rose-coloured setting sun gave the scarred city a haunted look and eerie feel. The group walked slowly along the blackened streets, passing ruined, burnt out houses. There was no sign of life. A cold northern wind blew from the mountains through the city, chilling the men to their souls. One of the lancers spoke when Gammel veered off the main road, but they left him to his own grief. Dax led the other men through the city, passing through New Town and making their way up to Old Town. Still nothing lived, nothing moved, except for the northern wind, which rattled the few wooden shutters remaining in their frames. Finally, the men arrived at the Great Hall, now just a scorched shell. They all stopped with their heads bowed, remembering the horrors that had occurred there.

  Dax edged forward up the stairs and paused before entering the hall. All that remained standing inside the charred walls were the stone sides of the throne. The rest was ash, stirred by the wind whistling through the shattered windows. Using a dagger, Dax swept away the charred remains of the throne seat and saw it had been split open. Empty. As quickly as he had entered, Dax left the building. Once outside, he saw all eyes fixed upon him, questioning, hoping. He looked at each face then solemnly shook his head. Gan-Goran, Thade, and Zane understood. The relic was gone.

  The men waited on the steps of the Great Hall for Gammel. Finally, they saw his lumbering bulk emerge through the swirling ash. He strode up the main road, his head bowed and shoulders hunched forward. He did not stop at the Great Hall nor look at the others. No words needed saying as the rest of the company joined him. They left the dead city and headed north.

  None of them looked back.

  ***

  The men marched for two hours before making camp just off the road in a small clearing. Gammel sat to one side on his own, deep in thought. Prince Zane, Captain Waid, and the remaining Royal Lancers secured the area, then gathered firewood for heat and the group’s evening meal. The devastation of Evlon had marked each man and throughout the evening conversation was minimal. The evening passed without incident.

  ***

  The next day the men continued north, leaving behind them the scenes of Evlon. They now had a mission – to reach the outpost called Ubert. Only a few supplies were found in or around Evlon and with this urgency, they increased their pace. Throughout the day they continued, reaching the undulating foothills of the Great Mountains. In the distance, the white-peaked caps of the range stood proud like sharp teeth biting into grey clouds.

  Captain Waid sent his two Royal Lancers, Calac and Batte, to scout ahead past the first of the hills. The rest of the company made camp in a hollow by a small cliff face. Captain Waid and Gammel gathered wood while Gan-Goran foraged for herbs and vegetables. Dax, Thade, and Prince Zane had left the party shortly before making camp, to hunt. They soon returned, to Gan-Goran’s joy, with a couple of rabbits and pigeons.

  Gan-Goran stirred his thin, bubbling stew while the others sat around the fire idly chatting until Calac and Batte returned.

  “Report,” ordered Captain Waid.

  “Sir, we believe there’s a Kharnack camp due north of here between us and Ubert.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Dax, frowning.

  “Sire, we did not get too close to the camp as we’re not trackers, but they look like Kharnacks.”

  “Due north, you say?”

  “Aye.”

  “Well I’d better take a look,” announced Dax. “Let’s find out what is ahead of us. Calac, take me to where you spotted this camp and I will have a closer look.”

  “Aye,” said Calac glumly, his hunger pricked by the smell of Gan-G
oran’s stew.

  “Dax, do you need any help?” asked Zane, starting to rise.

  “No, rest here, we will be back in a few hours.”

  Fetching his axes and strapping his harness to his back, Dax left the camp with a tired Calac trudging behind.

  ***

  The pair travelled for nearly an hour before Calac stopped and whispered to Dax.

  “Sir, the camp is just over this rise. We will need to crawl up from here as the moon is behind us.”

  Dax just nodded and the two men slithered up on their bellies to the top of the ridge. Peering over the crest, Dax saw the distinctive camping pattern of the Kharnacks. A major central fire dominated the camp, surrounded by tents, with smaller fires placed between the tents. The central fire was used for cooking and warmth, whereas the outer, smaller fires were beacons to detect anyone trying to sneak up to the camp.

  The camp was located near running water and the horses were picketed between the Great Mountains and the central campfire. The Kharnacks always picketed their horses north of the camp in case of attack. As most of their enemies were away from the Great Mountains, it would be unlikely that an attack would come from the north. Therefore, if attacked, the Kharnacks could flee and hide back in the mountains.

  Dax calculated that the camp could hold fifty or more clansmen, but he needed to take a closer look to be sure. He nudged Calac. “I need to gauge how many men are in the camp,” he whispered. “I will be back in about fifteen minutes. If you hear a disturbance from the camp head straight back to Prince Zane and report. You understand?”

  “Yes sir,” answered the Royal Lancer, his face blanched of colour.

  Dax looked into the younger man’s eyes and saw fear and uncertainty. The old warrior smiled reassuringly. “I will be back soon,” he whispered and gripped Calac’s shoulder. The Royal Lancer nodded, absorbing some of the warrior’s strength.

  Calac watched the older warrior slither over the crest and down into a small valley. One moment he could see him, and the next moment the older man disappeared into the night’s gloom merging with the shadows. Calac waited nervously on the ridge for Dax to return, staring towards the campfires.